


Lilac Sky

by susiephalange



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellamy Has Feelings, Canon Compliant, Clarke/Lexa if you squint, Clothes Washing, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Song Lyrics, used as dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: You were red, and you liked me because I was blue -You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky...And you decided purple -or, when Clarke is sick of Bellamy's blundering around, and sics Reader onto him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Halsey and then I watched some of _The 100_ and well, here we are! I've only watched seasons 1-2 since Netflix Australia only has those seasons available so forgive me please!

Ever since landing on Earth, the 100 were vibrant, alive and wild. After all, all of you had been locked in the Skybox, away for crimes. Now there was a freedom, a branching away from the Ark, personalities and people came out of the black and white of life up above the planet of green and blue. Clarke Griffin, daughter of the doctor Abby Griffin became a Leader. As did Bellamy Blake, the elder brother to Octavia Blake.

Bellamy. 

He wasn't at all like the guy you remembered back on the Ark - he had been so much younger, so much more alive than now. Or maybe that was the way memories worked, archiving the people you knew around you to be their best self, something to keep you calm, and able to sleep at night. You remembered him to be a fresh-faced young man, a cadet for the Guard. Then, you had been found by a Guard in the wrong place, the wrong time, and framed for the loss of a month's oxygen for the Ark. You never found out who had actually done the crime; you had been locked up in the Skybox for what seemed ages, too long, until you were allowed out - to die.

But down here, there was no idea about the concept of death. Those who had survived the landing whooped and danced, pitched tents made from the landing parachute, marked their territories, helped raise a wall around the Dropship. It wasn't like you'd expect the man who was leading the reckless teenagers to remember you. You had briefly met before your incarceration; it was fleeting, and through mutual friends at your work station. But that was a world away. And as far as you knew, he was not a monogamous man, by the word of mouth and those who had spent the early hours warming his sleeping bag.

It wasn't until someone noticed that your allotted job was washerwoman that they laughed, and at once, everyone knew your name, and came to you with their dirty clothes. It felt strange, being popular for an unpopular thing, and with attention you had no idea what to do with, it made you feel on the spot, alarmed. But you soldiered on.

"Leave the poor thing alone," Clarke barked, grabbing everyone's dirty clothes from them, gently passing them to you. "Come on, move along. You've got forever to get ________ to wash your knickers, scram." 

You gave a grateful glance to the blonde, who smiled in return. "Thanks," you mutter, gathering all of the material in your hands, trying not to drop it on the ground. She grinned, and took half the load from your hands. "Oh, Clarke, you don't have to -,"

She shook her head. "Don't fuss about it, it's just me pulling my weight around here."

"You're the Healer, and co-leader," you remind her, trudging down to the little lake by the camp. Slowly placing all the clothes by the edge, you bend down, and gather the icy water in your palms to prepare you for the job ahead. "But apart from that, I suspect you're here to talk to me away from everyone." you add.

Clarke laughs. "You've got me there, ________...uh, it's about Bellamy." she lowers herself to the water's edge, to the height you're at, and begins scrubbing the dirt from the shirt in her hands with her fingers. "You have a...fondness for him."

You wash the shorts in your hands, letting the words wash over your head as you work. "I never thought it in those words, but yes, I do like Bellamy more than admiration for my leader here on Earth." you confess. "Please don't tell him, he'll think I'm one of those simpering toys of his."

Clarke laughs. "That's why I'm here. He, ah, slept with someone, and he's not himself. I think it meant more to her than him, or was it him?" She sighs, "Ugh...anyways, I know you're not the delinquent you're supposed to be, ________. I mean, I'd ask Octavia, but I don't think I should get his sister involved in what he does with his spare time and pants..."

You nod, and heaving a sigh, swallow your pride. "Sure. I'll do it."

* * *

 

Your usual spot was at the stream, where the clothes were washed, were hung from the trees, where you waited, listening to the birdsong. After a Grounder attack, you were told you needed to carry a weapon on going out, but you were yet to grab a gun. You hated guns. They smelt terrible, and reminded you of when you were placed into lock-up. But today, there seemed to be nothing much in the laundry pile; just a pair of socks, and a smelly hat. And, with the whole idea of Bellamy's _'do whatever the hell you want!_ ' speech, you really felt like sitting in the sun today. Where you usually worked was shaded, and by the Dropship, there was a fantastic place to soak in the rays of light. 

But when you clambered out from your tent, one you shared with a young delinquent named Doggett, you saw that there was a huge crowd around the Dropship, both boys and girls trying to get a look inside, even though someone stood at the curtains keeping guard. 

Curiosity got the better of you, bringing yourself out and pushing to the front of the crowd. Turning to the person nearest to you, Monty, you asked what the big fuss was. "Didn't you hear?" He quirks a brow, mystified at your confusion, and adds quickly, in his matter-of-fact Monty tone, "It's Bellamy. Won't get out of the top of the ship."

You pushed past them all, making way inside the Dropship. Before anyone could stop you, you were climbing the ladder, hand as a fist, and bashing on the opening. "Open up, Bellamy Blake!" you hollered. "Rise and shine, O Leader, mine," you sang sarcastically. 

There was a petite thunder of footsteps on the metal above your head, and creaking, the door opened to reveal the face of Bellamy Blake; brother to Octavia Blake, human disaster, co-leader. His brow furrowed, the door about to be lowered once more. 

"You're stuffing everyone up with your tantrum," you frown, climbing down another rung of the ladder as to allow him to see the hoard of teenagers watching at the entrance. "Weren't you the one who was pushing everyone for production and stuff? They can't make guns go bang without bullets, Blake." 

He rolls his eyes. "I'd get this speech from anyone, hell, even from Murphy. What's it to you?" he pushes. 

You give a dry laugh, "I'm the washerwoman, Bellamy, nothing's to me, I'm both the lowest on the food-chain and the only one game enough to wash everyone's tighty whities. If you don't come down, I'll have you washing your own clothes for a week." You threaten. If this was back on the Ark, nobody would take you seriously, for being a petty programmer in training. But here, you could make _the_ Bellamy Blake wash his own clothes along with his other duties. You were like a god. Or at least, someone who didn't care about being the one to clean everyone's sweaty t-shirts. "Sounds good?" 

"You can't threaten me," he jabs.

"A month. A whole thirty days of you washing your own shit off your boots, the dirt from your jacket." you pressure. "Get. Out." you repeat.

Bellamy Blake, brother to Octavia Blake, human disaster, co-leader bows to your blackmail, and retreats down the ladder after you. The camp is in awe, nearly silent, watching as you come from the ship, with the dark-haired leader in tow. 

* * *

 

It was four days later when you caught Bellamy running away not quite discreetly from a loyal follower of his. Caught wasn't the right word; he ran smack into you, spilling the clean clothes for the camp from your new woven basket, out over the dirty ground. 

"Oh my - what was that for,  _pfassk_?" you cuss, bending down to gather the clothes. Most of them were from the Gunners, and had been covered in sweat and dirt and blood. And, once again, they were covered in filth. "Look what you've done!" you moan. 

Bellamy's face turns red, bending to help you gather what he can. "Sorry - I didn't mean to knock into you," he fumbles over his words, "I'm just trying to get away from Aexstra, she's telling all of camp she's with me, and I'm not -," 

"I never thought the day would come that I'd see Bellamy Blake flustered," You interrupt him, smirking. "You owe me for dirtying my load, and to keep this," you gesture to his reddened face, "a secret," you push.

"What is with you and blackmail?" He huffs. 

But before he can protest, the face of Aexstra peeks from behind a tent, eyes set on Bellamy's crop of dark hair, on the guy she's been spreading lies about. Before you process it, there's a pair of lips on yours, fingers carding through your hair, the scent of sweat and _Bellamy_ filling your nostrils. 

"What -," you don't think you can focus on anything; your heart beats too fast, your mind spins. Slowly, you take a breath, and the air tastes sweeter than you'd ever felt it to be before here on Earth. 

For a moment, he takes a look at you; eyes roaming your forehead, your nose, lips. But then he diverts his eyes, and swallows. "Sorry," he mutters, once his lips part from yours, turning to see Aexstra. But she's run off, leaving the both of you to eat her dust as she runs back into the heart of the camp, signs of waterworks forming from her shaking shoulders and heaving chest. 

The next day, Bellamy joins you at the lake, and silently washes the clothes he reverse-cleaned the day before, aids you with the current things to clean. He watches how you rub the water over the material, use the rocks to create a still pool to keep the material to soak out stubborn stains. You were the reason the camp looked so good; and with Bellamy silently at your side, he was learning too. You were silent too; you had every intention to ask him why he'd kissed you, and why he'd run after the girl he'd intended to hurt. Why he had been everything you'd ever wished for and wanted and willed for all your moments of having those silly little feelings for him. But you stayed quiet. 

When you were coming back to camp, Clarke took you by the elbow, and taking Bellamy's basket of clean clothes to dry, joined you to hang them to dry with the excuse that Bellamy needed to lead, for once, and let her just be Healer-slash-normal for at least a few minutes. By the washing line, she wouldn't stop asking about what you'd done to help her out with her problem, her questions like little jabs in your side. 

"Did I solve your problem with that girl? Yeah, I did," you give in to her pressuring, hanging a pair of socks up. "But I've made my own problems worse, Clarke." 

Clarke raises an eyebrow, undoing a knot that a pair of pants had gotten themselves into, hanging them up on the string line. "This might be about your fondness, right?" 

"Yep." You huff, taking a seat on a fallen tree-trunk, head in your hands, knees near your nose. "He kissed me, but the only thing he said was 'sorry', and then ran off, and ever since then has been practically mute around me," you bemoan, sounding awfully like a love struck child who doesn't know which way is up after a bout with cupid, "And now I feel like shit.  How did this happen?" you ask the sky, your words falling short onto Clarke's ears.

She huffs. "That bastard..." she crosses her arms, "Want me to kick his ass?" 

You shake your head. "No...but as much as I'd enjoy watching it - no. No. I'll wait a bit. Gives me moral high ground when I roundhouse kick his head into place in a couple of days. Geez. Why is it we always fall for the people who don't know much about common sense? And mutual feelings?"

Clarke nods, and gazes into the trees with a faraway look in her eyes. "Tell me about it..." 

* * *

 

It's the day before Unity Day when Bellamy finally comes to you. But it's been that long since you'd looked him in the eye, and he'd given you plenty of time to stew over the thoughts that had boiled you from the inside out. He looks as handsome as he's ever been, but that doesn't matter. 

"Do you want to come with me to the celebrations?" he asks you. You keep your eyes trained on your task, folding the washing neatly into the piles to give back to each member of camp, trying to ignore his words as best you could. "I mean, you'll be there, of course, but do you want to be with me?" he repeats. 

You take a deep breath, setting down Raven's jacket onto her pile, and look him in the eye. "Bellamy, your sister never tells you, but she loves you. And so did your mother. I almost feel sorry for you, traipsing around with no care for others' feelings." you snap, slowly rising to face him. "It's a no from me."

It's like you've frozen him in place; Bellamy Blake, leader and verbose member of camp is silent, only signs of life being the rise and fall of his chest, the occasional blink. "________-,"

"I'm not some tool for you to break the hearts of other girls, and I'm not a bed-warmer. To think I liked you," you scoff, crossing your arms. "To think I agreed to Clarke to help you get out of the rut. When you're just happy where you are." You scoop up the piles, and begin to walk away. 

Only to find a hand holding your wrist back. 

"I'm a stupid  _pfassk,_ " Bellamy mutters, head hung low. "I'm not that great at words, and I didn't mean to kiss you that day, and I'm terrible at everything and barely make it through the day without someone kicking my ass in the right direction." he confesses, the words tumbling from his lips. "I meant to ask you to the dance on the Ark, but someone framed you for that crime, and I never got to, and I'm an idiot," his fingers release your wrist, leaving the strip of skin feeling oddly alone where he had touched. 

"You were red...and you liked me because I was blue ," you whisper, repeating an old Earth song, "You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky, and you decided purple -," 

"Was just for me," he interrupted. "I know it'll take time to forgive me, but ________, I've had a crush on you for ages and ages, and when I heard Octavia, and you were going to be sent down here, I couldn't do anything but join you all." Bellamy turns to go, but before you can help it, your hand jolts from your chest, cradling the clothes, and grabbing his collar, brings his lips to your own. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
